


Occam's Razor

by ProtoPrince



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol and Cigarettes Mentioned, Anal Sex, Clothing Cut Off by Knife, Criminal AU, Gay Sex, Hermann is The Accountant, Hotel Artemis AU, Knifeplay, Light Choking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Newt is Acapulco, Oral Sex, PWP, ass eating, violence mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoPrince/pseuds/ProtoPrince
Summary: Acapulco gets caught dealing weapons on another gang's turf and is brought in to be disciplined by their leader, The Accountant.





	Occam's Razor

In retrospect, it may not have been the _best_ idea to pick up sticks and move to another part of town without a little research. For example: where is the nearest coffee shop? Nearest tailor? Who’s in charge of all the illegal stuff around here? And who the hell is this ‘Accountant’ he keeps hearing about? Also probably shouldn’t have tried selling street corner rocket launchers and AKs on another guy’s turf. Which is how Acapulco finds himself bound, gagged and thrown to the feet of The Accountant himself.

 

The man is haughty looking and thin, dressed in an all-black in a suit cut so sharp it could kill a man, silver collar stays glinting like a knife’s edge. His face is angled, sharp cheekbones and fine brow casting dramatic shadows down his face, obscuring his eyes and deepening the curve of that long thin mouth. He looked like he could be a stylish grim reaper. Acapulco thinks he could murder him and he’d probably thank him, too bad it’s not quite his time.

 

The Accountant is stood behind a sleek monochrome desk, making himself a drink. All of the furniture in the room is black or white with accents of silver, in contrast to the utilitarian concrete walls and slate coloured tiles. Easier to mop up, Acapulco realises. He shivers. The man comes closer, holding a scotch glass in one hand and gripping a cane in the other. Both hands are wrapped in leather so tight the gloves look almost vacuum-sealed to the long elegant fingers they fit. He looks more like an aristocratic businessman than a gang leader, but in Acapulco’s not-so-insignificant experience, the best ones do.

 

“What… Do we have here then?” He pauses to take a sip halfway through his sentence, leisurely pace thickening a British accent.

 

The man-mountain of a goon that had captured Acapulco pushes him forward, knocking him to his knees. He tastes blood in his mouth again, from his nose or the cut on his forehead he can’t tell.

 

“Found him dealing weapons on our turf, just outside that 70’s nightclub on 2nd. Said his name was Acapulco, fake, obviously”

 

“Take that thing out of his mouth, I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”

 

“You sure boss? He’s got a bit of a mouth on him.” The Accountant’s mouth twitches down, a small crack in his well-lacquered facade.

 

“Do I need to ask twice, Tristan?”

 

For the first time, The Accountant levels his gaze at the man at his feet. Their eyes meet and a spark jolts through Acapulco, the image of this powerful man towering above him makes him _want_.

 

_Wait, what? This guy could kill me, now’s not the time to be horny!_

 

The goon flinches and bends to untie Acapulco’s own designer scarf turned makeshift gag from his head, freeing his mouth to speak. Acapulco takes a moment to lubricate his mouth with saliva again before he speaks.

 

“Hey, that scarf was Chanel you big lug, d’ya know how hard it is to get blood out of silk? You can’t!” That earns him another punch, a decent collection of bruises earned in transit with Tristan and some other muscle. They had beaten him after they discovered his little operation, packed him up in the van and when he wouldn’t shut up, they gagged him with his own scarf and beat him until he passed out. The nerve of some people.

 

Acapulco laughs, coughing up more blood onto the slate flooring.

 

“Ah. I’m sure we can all sympathise with your situation, _Mr. Acapulco.”_ His words are accompanied with a serpentine smile that makes Acapulco’s stomach drop, his chances of making it out alive shrinking before his very eyes. “However, that does not excuse the fact that you have, in fact, disrespected me, my organisation, and my territory. I’m not one to dwell on the past; what’s done is done. But, I ask you now, what do you intend to do, to make up for your… Indiscretion?”

 

He tilts his head back again and his face is covered in shadows, eyes looking black as night and soulless despite the cheshire cat smile adorning his face.

 

“How ‘bout I work it back for you, doll? I’ll even throw in a little extra as a thank you for your hospitality.”

 

“An interesting proposal. But I see you already belong to another.” He gestures at Acapulco’s scarred eye. “I don’t share.”

 

“Oh, this? This is nothin’, me and the Wolf King? Ancient history.” He licks his lips nervously, pink tongue just visible under his moustache, and The Accountant follows the movement. “I’m paid in full, baby, let me show you just how loyal I can be.” He winks with his scarred eye.

 

The accountant hums and puts down the almost empty glass.

 

“You can leave.” He gestures at Tristan and another goon guarding the door. “I can deal with this one myself. Goodnight boys.” He leaves no room for argument. The goons look a little uneasy at leaving their boss unguarded but leave anyway.

 

Acapulco watches as the other man circles him, inspecting him, no doubt disgusted by the filth he’s coated in. Finally, he stops at Acapulco’s back, and he can feel the cold silver of a blade pressed against his throat in contrast with the warm breath at his ear.

 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you make a move.” The voice is right against his ear, and Acapulco has to center himself so as not to shiver right into the blade pressed against his skin.

 

“Nah, all good doll.” He swallows and feels the slightest cut bloom against his adam’s apple. Damn, that thing must be sharp.

 

The Accountant walks back in front, sheathing the silver dagger back into his cane. Classy _and_ deadly. Nice. He tips Acapulco’s chin up with one gloved hand, the leather buttery soft and warm, studying his features. He lets go and moves away, refilling his drink and collecting a metal cigarette holder. Acapulco is left on the floor, unsure of what to do with himself, suddenly feeling like he’s in the den of a beast - for the first time in his life prey, not predator. He’s into it.

 

The other man finally sinks into a plush black leather armchair, plucking a cigarette from the holder and retrieving a lighter. He flips the lid, clicks the mechanism and lights the cigarette, Acapulco staring at those thin lips thinking about what it would be like to have them wrapped around his cock.

 

His face softens as he exhales rich smoke, undoubtedly some fancy foreign brand. His eyes harden and he gestures at his feet. “Kneel.”

 

The request is simple. Well, more of a command, as Acapulco does as he’s told, kneeling at the other man’s feet.

 

“Good boy.” He strokes Acapulco’s wild hair as one would a pet. “I hope we were on the same page, when we were talking about loyalty earlier. Show me how much you want to be a part of my organisation.”

 

The Accountant spreads his legs, looking like some sort of king, Acapulco prone beneath him, loving every second. He would curse his love of being dominated if he weren’t otherwise occupied with undoing The Accountant’s belt and trousers, other man watching with those dark eyes. Acapulco is tempted to ask him where he gets his suits, the material in his hands so fine and elegant. He knows he should be shitting himself, his life riding on this BJ, but he’s far too into it to worry. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a very fruitful partnership.

 

He palms The Accountant’s cock through the material as he works his way down to his tight briefs, the other man’s exhales getting shakier in anticipation. Finally, Acapulco frees the length from it’s confines, grinning before taking it to the base. That draws a groan from the man above him, hand tugging at his filthy unruly hair. He must look an absolute mess; blood and dirt all over his suit, scarf ruined, shirt barely hanging on with one solitary button. He can feel a black eye coming on and a patchwork of bruises sure to cover his body in the morning. Getting a little rough always turned him on, but he never expected to end the night taking all can get from this beautiful and powerful man.

 

Acapulco moves to rub against his tight trousers and feels steel at his neck again. He opens his eyes to The Accountant, studying him, lustful haze in those dark brown eyes replaced by a calculating stare. He realises Acapulco wasn’t looking for a weapon and draws the knife lower, snagging against the material that was once a Versace suit. He cuts, knife slipping through the ruined fabric like paper. Acapulco holds still, leaning back on his heels, watching The Accountant at work. Finally he catches that last button with the knife, leaning down to kiss Acapulco as he cuts, exposing Acapulco’s chest to the cool air.

 

“ _Mine.”_

 

Acapulco can only nod, searching for the other man’s lips again to deepen their kiss, tasting that deep rich smoke mixed with the Scotch, cigarette forgotten on a gleaming ashtray beside them. He feels that cold blade trail down his chest, warm leather seeking out bruises and bullet tattoos alike. The contrast makes him shiver, The Accountant swallowing every little needy groan.

 

“Fuck me, baby please, I need your cock in me.”

 

Acapulco is hauled up into the armchair, facing the back, arms still bound by coarse rope behind his back. His knees touch the arms on each side of the chair, ass in the air. He feels his pants split as the other man cuts the fabric from his legs, only one piece of clothing left covering him. This time, the other man simply tears the fabric with his bare hands, Acapulco shivers as the gloved hands come into contact with his bare ass.

 

His only warning is those gloves pulling his cheeks apart and a puff of warm air before he feels a warm wet tongue against his entrance. He jerks back and moans, dick twitching in excitement. He can’t push back with his arms bound and his balance shaky, submission glorious and maddening in equal measure. That tongue is absolutely filthy, so wet and warm, like some kind of tentacle, too much and not enough. He’s tracing patterns against the skin, methodical and controlled, driving Acapulco absolutely crazy. His moans are louder now, covering the wet noises, doing his best to rock back and take _more_ , dick rock solid, and _so close._

 

The accountant pulls off just before Acapulco is ready to come, leaving him prone on the chair as he retrieves something from his desk. He smacks Acapulco’s ass, earning a surprised groan, as he spreads a cold liquid on his hands and his entrance. He feels a gloved finger push in easily, moaning at the feeling as it works in and out in a wonderful slip slide. Another slips in beside it and then another, until Acapulco is a mess, doing his best to keep it together just a little bit. He bites down on the leather as a fourth is added for just a moment before they’re all gone. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think The Accountant was edging him, always pulling away a second before he reaches his crescendo.

 

“Ready?” He’s breathless, and Acapulco can make out disheveled hair from the corner of his eye. He smirks.

 

“Born ready, darlin’, don’t nothin’ back.” He wiggles his ass a little for emphasis.

 

The Accountant’s cock sinks into him, no resistance whatsoever. He slides to the hilt and both men moan as he draws out again, setting a quick pace already. Acapulco’s hole thoroughly worked open, he fucks him fast, gripping his bound hands for extra leverage. Acapulco can only kneel and take it, drooling on the leather, eyes rolling back as the other man hits that spot in a gloriously uneven rhythm. A stream of profanity pours from his mouth, spurring the other man on, composure long forgotten in favour of base animal instinct. His hips snap in a punishing beat, sound of skin against skin sure to make no mistake what they’re doing in here should anyone walk by.

 

He feels the rope being cut from his wrists and his arms are free, one hand going back to the other man’s hips and the other against the back of the chair, giving Acapulco all the purchase he need to meet every thrust. Both groan.

 

“Want you… To ride me.” Acapulco has never heard a better idea.

 

The Accountant maneuvers Acapulco onto his lap so he’s sat in the chair, Acapulco on top facing him. The other man is still mostly dressed, shirt undone and a little rumpled, cock out of his pants, standing obscenely to attention. Acapulco can’t help but reach forward and pull him into a sloppy kiss, messing up that slick hairstyle even more as he sinks back onto his cock again. Both men are close, but Acapulco rides him as hard and fast as his aching body will allow, adrenaline pushing him to the edge. The Accountant breaks their kiss for breath and presses their foreheads together, hand wrapping around Acapulco’s cock. The hand which had been occupied with the hair at the base of Acapulco’s neck comes around to grip his throat, applying gradually greater pressure. It doesn’t take long for Acapulco to come, head rearing back, eyes closed, mouth silently spilling pet-names. The Accountant comes as he feels Acapulco tense, fucking through their shared orgasm.

 

Acapulco takes a few moments to come back to himself and catch his breath, it’s been a while since he’s had a fuck like that. He looks down at The Accountant, who seems to be in a similar position. The other man opens his eyes, pupils still blown and looking completely fucked out, and Acapulco grins.

 

“Here’s to a long and fruitful relationship, darlin’.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno whether this is a thing for Burn Gorman's American fans, but the guy plays such cognitively dissonant roles... Like half the time he's an upperclass stiff-upper lip gentleman, then the rest of the time he's peak British Lad™?? ?
> 
> It's very strange to me idk


End file.
